


Santa, Baby

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Drunk Vulcans, Fluff, Holidays, K/S Advent Calendar, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: Spock is a department store Santa. Hilarity ensues.





	Santa, Baby

“Sss… Sinjun… Sunchip? Teh-goy?”

“My name is S'chn T'gai Spock, but you may call me by my rank, which is Commander, or by my given name, which is Spock.”

The department store manager, whose nametag labeled him “Todd,” stared at Spock with his mouth hanging open slightly, so that he might breathe, Spock presumed. “Spawk.”

“Spock.”

“Spaw-uhk.”

“Spock.”

Todd smiled and stood aside, allowing Spock to precede him into his office. It was, even by the standards of minimalism Spock favored, tiny. The “desk” was in actuality a counter, half of which had been piled high with returned merchandise; his chair looked like it had survived the Terran Third World War, and squeaked when he sat; the rest of the space was crowded with unopened crates of inventory. He gestured to the seat beside him, which Spock took reluctantly. The chair listed alarmingly backwards, and Spock tensed up, wondering if it would hold him. He braced his feet and sat with his back straight against just such an eventuality. 

“We don’t get many Vulcan job applicants,” Mr. Todd observed.

“Do you not?”

“Not that many as customers either – you guys seem to favor our higher end competitors.”

“I cannot comment on the phenomenon.”

“Tell me about yourself, Spawk.”

Spock blinked, unprepared for the question. Surely anything the man would need to know about his relevant professional experiences could be found on his CV. “I do not understand the question.”

“Well, I mean, what makes you tick? What do you like to do?”

“I… quite enjoy playing my Vulcan lyre,” Spock replied slowly.

“Lyre, really? You know any good songs?”

“I believe ‘good’ is a subjective judgment. I am proficient at my instrument.”

“Well, that could come in handy,” Mr. Todd said thoughtfully, marking something down on a PADD that had sat untouched on his desk until now. He used the stylus to scratch at a patch of drying skin on the crown of his balding head; Spock watched in fascination as flakes fell to join their fellows on the man’s shoulders. “Do you have any other skills that would qualify you to be a Christmas elf at McCall’s Santa’s Workshop? TM?”

“I understood the qualifications included availability during given hours, and a certain, shall we say, flexibility in being paid off the books?” Spock replied.

Mr. Todd nodded affably. “Not to mention being paid below minimum wage, eh?”

“Yes,” Spock said, raising a disapproving eyebrow. It wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter – and McCall’s, one of the larger if less prestigious department stores in San Francisco, was willing to look the other way on his present immigration status.

“OK then!” Mr. Todd said, hopping to his feet. “If you have no questions for me, you can report for training tomorrow morning at 8:00. You know what – make it 7:30 – we’ll have to find you a costume.”

Spock closed his eyes momentarily at mention of the word _costume_. “Very well.” He placed a bracing hand on the back of his chair so that it would not fall over, and it squealed not unlike an injured porcine creature as he rose. 

“Excellent. Welcome aboard, Spawk.” Mr. Todd held his right hand, an expectant look on his face.

Spock stared at the hand, then at Mr. Todd, who waited a beat before pulling it back and smoothing it over his sparse, ginger hair. “Yes,” Spock said, and took his leave.

\----

Spock returned to the store at precisely 7:29 the following morning to find that every single door he attempted to use to gain access was locked. He was about to give it up and apply for a job in food service when he noticed someone walking around inside, on the store’s main sales floor. Shielding his eyes from the early morning sun, he peered inside and knocked politely on the door.

The Trill who came to answer was male, shorter than Spock, but lithe, with an indolent manner. “Who’re you?” he asked, removing one of the tiny personal audio devices he wore in his ear.

“I am Spock, a new employee here. Today is my first day, and it was unclear where I was to have entered. All of the doors are locked.”

The man looked Spock up and down appraisingly. “A Vulcan? I guess there’s a first time for everything. Come on in.” He unlatched the door to let Spock in, then locked it behind him.

“Thank you,” Spock said, schooling his features into as neutral an expression as he could. “I am to report to Mr. Todd for outfitting and training to be a Christmas elf,” Spock told him. 

“No shit?”

Spock was unsure how or if to respond. 

“Who’re you looking for again?”

“Mr. Todd.”

“Who? Oh, you mean the store manager. Todd is his first name.” He reinserted the ear bud and turned to walk back in the direction he had been going originally.

“I did not get your name, sir,” Spock called after him, but he apparently did not hear.

\----

Some minutes later, Spock found Todd on the main floor, addressing a group of bored-looking sales personnel in the cosmetics department. 

“Just remember the slogan, it’s really easy! ‘Welcome to McCalls, home of the fa la la la lowest prices in town!’ Get it? Like the song? Fa la la la _lowest_ …? No? Yes?”

If Spock were given to hyperbolic statements, he might have said their indifference could have powered starships, but he was not. 

Todd shook his head and hiked up his trousers, a wholly futile action, for they did not remain where he’d reseated them due to their ill fit and the relative flatness of his gluteals. 

Todd sighed audibly. “Fine, just be sure to push the dang perfumes, then, we get spiffed for each one we sell the week before Christmas. OK?” As before, the assembled staff stared at him mildly and without making a sound; Spock wondered if they were still breathing.

“Oh, hello,” Todd said when he found Spock standing there. “What do you want?”

“I am Spock, you hired me yesterday to fill the vacancy in Santa’s Workshop for the remainder of the holiday season?”

“I know, but what do you want?”

“An understanding of what’s required of me—job duties, etc.—will be sufficient.”

Todd stared at him, head cocked to the side as if thinking it through. Spock stared back. “OK fine, come with me.” 

Todd led him on a winding route through the first floor of the store, department after department of cosmetics, ladies’ hosiery, accessories, and more, all of it delineated by signage suspended from the low ceiling. The place was oddly still and quiet, at odds with the busy chaos of the day before, and Spock found he liked it better this way.

At last they arrived at a distant corner of the store, and walked down a dimly-lit corridor to a door that had a hand-written sign on it that said, “Employees Only.” Beyond was a locker room, a clearly makeshift affair of free-standing lockers that had been set up at one end of the stockroom. 

“OK, so, there are the lockers,” Todd said, gesturing with his hand. “You can leave your stuff in one, but you need to bring your own lock. Your hours are 8:00 am to 4:00 pm and you get a half hour for lunch.” 

Spock nodded as a young woman appeared from around the far side of the lockers. She was Orion, with clear, jade skin and an overabundance of red curls springing about her head. She was dressed in a green and white striped body stocking atop which she wore a short green skirt trimmed in white fur and a tiny matching bolero jacket. On her feet she wore a strange pair of boots whose toes curled back on themselves, the point of which was adorned by a small bell that jingled when she moved. 

“This is Gaila,” Todd said, swiping the back of his hand across his sweaty upper lip. “She’ll hook you up with a costume.”

“I will?” she said.

“You will if you want to remain employed, yes,” Todd said before taking his leave. She rolled her eyes.

Spock and Gaila regarded each other from opposite ends of the line of lockers, she with her hands on her hips, he standing perfectly straight and at parade rest. “A Vulcan, huh? Weird.”

“Yes, it is apparently a novel thing.”

“Just, you know – don’t picture you guys being much for menial labor.”

“I understoodd the job involved more of a roleplay aspect than anything labor intensive,” he replied.

“If you want to call it that. Follow me.” She led Spock to a corner where a series of cardboard wardrobes sat sagging against each other. “What size are you?” she asked, looking Spock up and down. “Never mind, I think I got it.” She turned back to the wardrobes and sorted through a collection of brightly-colored garments. Spock wrinkled his nose at the sharp tang of mothballs. “I think you’re a little big for most of what we have left. I mean, most of the elves they hire are girls or teen-aged boys – we never get full-grown Vulcans in here.” A few minutes later, she turned to face him with an armful of garments that she shoved into his arms. “Men’s room is over there if you want privacy,” she said, pointing. 

Spock glanced to the room in question, then back at her.

“Those clothes aren’t going to apply themselves. Shoo!” She flapped her hands at him and he retreated to the men’s room, which was a one-person affair that held a single toilet and sink; a flickering light overhead barely illuminated the room. The floor was covered in tiny, one-inch tiles the color of putty, and the walls were painted the same color. The door would not lock to afford any sort of permanent privacy. Spock sighed and dressed as quickly as possible.

The costume consisted of a pair of leggings that were the same alternating green and white horizontal stripes as Gaila’s body stocking, a pair of green velvet shorts and matching jacket, a white turtleneck, and a hat the same color as the shorts. Pulling on the leggings was not dissimilar to traditional Vulcan male dress, though the fabric was decidedly less supportive. Spock was grateful for the shorts until he attempted to fasten them – they were quite tight across the buttocks, and the turtleneck was similarly snug across the chest. Spock despaired of ever being warm enough and resolved to wear his Starfleet-issued thermals the next day. There was no bell-festooned footwear, for which he was grateful, but then he put on the hat. 

“Oh dear,” he said quietly to his reflection in the smudged mirror above the sink—what he could see of it, that was. The hat was constructed to come to a point in front, its end decorated with a tiny bell that hung precisely between his eyes. It made tinny sounds whenever he moved, even slightly. And, perhaps most distressingly, it would flop to one side or another no matter how he adjusted it. He folded his own clothing as neatly as he could and left the tiny room.

He didn’t realize how thankful he could be that someone would witness this humiliation, but nevertheless he was grateful Gaila had remained behind to show him what to do next, because for the first time in his life he had no idea what to do. 

“Here, why don’t you put your stuff in my locker for today—you can bring a lock tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he said and quickly stowed his things. Gaila led him through the door and back to the store’s main floor. 

“Where are we going?” 

“The killing floor,” Gaila said without a trace of irony as she led him to the up escalator.

Two stories up they stepped into a retail nightmare. Shelves overflowing with brightly-colored toys from across the federation were arranged so close together two people could barely pass each other. The low ceiling was bedecked with the boughs of evergreen plants peppered alternately with large, garishly colored bows and tiny lights. Spock feared for the forests that must have been sacrificed for this display until he realized they were plastic. At the end of a short corridor they came to a wholly extraneous, old-fashioned directional signpost, with small placards pointing in a variety of directions. The one labeled “North Pole” caused Spock to pause.

“What are ya doing?” Gaila asked when she realized he was no longer following him.

“This sign is pointed in the wrong direction, it is more than 5 degrees off. And the distance to the Earth’s magnetic north pole has been calculated incorrectly,” he pointed out.

Gaila stared at him for a moment. “Maybe it’s the wrong one.”

“The wrong pole?”

“The wrong sign. Maybe it belongs in, uh,” she glanced at the sign and looked thoughtful for a moment, then went on, “Las Cruces.”

Spock considered a moment, and realized she was correct. “Fascinating.”

“What’s fascinating, that I got it right?” she asked, hands on hips.

“No, that I had not considered it would be correct at all, from any point on the globe. You are very good at maths.”

“I’d better be, I’m studying computer science at Starfleet Academy.”

“Indeed?” Spock felt a moment’s concern; he had not expected to encounter anyone from Starfleet whilst working this job. The fact he needed to earn the credits was the only thing keeping him there; “moonlighting,” while not forbidden, was frowned upon by the Admiralty. But the small amount of funds that had been available to him from a small inheritance from his maternal aunt had all gone, and owing to the byzantine Terran regulations regarding compensation of off-worlders, Spock’s salary as a Starfleet Academy instructor was unavailable to him. This short term job would earn him just enough to cover his expenses until (he hoped) his assets could be made liquid once more.

“Don’t worry, sugar, your secret’s safe with me. Besides, if I told anyone that one of the instructors was working in this dump, they’d never believe me anyway.”

“I thank you for your consideration,” he said sincerely, though he was certain the bell bobbing in front of his nose negated some of his solemnity.

“Come on, let’s get to it before the Big Man gets too cranky.”

Spock followed dutifully. He noticed that the deeper they got into this floor of the department store, the more extravagant the “decoration” became. The garlands gave way to entire trees whose limbs appeared to groan under the weight of the baubles and winking lights piled upon them. The low ceiling was dotted with crude paper cutouts depicting a variety of crystalline structures; they sparkled as they twirled on their invisible axes whenever the air around them stirred. And increasingly, he spotted crude cutouts of small bipeds clothed in a manner similar to the costumes he and Gaila wore. They appeared to be craftspeople of some sort, as many of them bore woodworking tools or paint brushes.

“What are these?” Spock asked with a frown.

“They call them ‘elves,’” Gaila replied.

Spock noted they all had pointed ears, and that many were green-complected. “Do you not find them… objectionable?”

“Oh, honey, this is Earth. Casual racism is just part of the local charm,” she replied breezily and walked on.

At last, they arrived at their destination, an area in the far corner that had been given over to a sort of pantomime display of an old-fashioned guildsperson’s space, or so Spock concluded from the sign hung above it all, “Santa’s Workshop.” Shelves and worktables were illustrated in the background, as well as shelves upon shelves of completed toys—crudely rendered dolls, soldiers, and steam-powered locomotives, despite their obvious obsolescence. In the foreground sat an immense, overstuffed, wing-backed chair upholstered in dark velvet. It was clearly the focal point of the garish display, as Spock now noted that the conifer-lined walkway he and Gaila had traversed led straight up to it. In front of it and leading to the side were a series of stanchions, meant to keep crowds of people in orderly lines. To the right was a small stand selling holos and other keepsakes. 

Three other employees—two females in costumes identical to Gaila’s and one male, dressed in street clothes—were busy making the area ready for the store’s 0900 opening, Gaila explained. “Let me introduce you to the others.” She indicated a young man, who Spock recognized as the Trill who’d let him into the store earlier. “That’s Kenny, our holographer.” Kenny waved without looking up and went back to adjusting his equipment. Gaila indicated one of the young women, a Deltan. “That’s Muna.” Muna nodded and went back to tidying up some of the décor. Finally Gaila indicated a young Caitian woman. “And that’s Ola.”

“I am pleased to make all of your acquaintances,” Spock politely. 

Gaila asked Spock to help Ola while she helped Kenny prepare materials for the day. “How may I be of assistance?” he asked Ola.

She indicated several large, unopened cartons. “These are canes of candy. The human young enjoy consuming them though they provide little nutrition or even mood-altering effects. They all need to go in there.” She indicated a large, empty transparent aluminum bin.

“Is that all?” Spock asked.

She shrugged. Spock did not understand how a job could require so little of him, but he supposed the day was still young. 

“HO!” someone shouted loudly several minutes later, startling Ola so much her hat was sent askew. Spock turned to see a rather alarmingly-clad gentleman striding toward them from the direction of the escalator. He was, apparently, elderly—if the long white hair and beard were any indication—and dressed entirely in red fur trimmed with white, including a stocking-style cap. He was also rather portly. “HO!” he shouted, then once more, “HO!”

Beside him, Spock heard Ola emit a low-frequency growl that would have gone unheard by humans, but was perfectly detectable by him. 

“Where’s my fourth ho?” the old man said loudly, and laughed as if he had made the most amusing joke. “Get it?” he went on, elbowing the holographer in the ribs hard enough to make him flinch as Gaila emerged from a small storage room behind the workshop display. “Ah, there she is. How’s it goin’ sweet cheeks?” he asked her before leering at her suggestively.

Gaila rolled her eyes. “You’re late, Alan. The rugrats’ll be showing up here at any minute.”

He waved his hand dismissively at her and wheeled around ponderously; it didn’t take long for him to notice Spock. “What have we here?” he said, looking Spock up and down with the same rudeness he’d shown Gaila.

“New guy,” Gaila said. “Amy’s replacement. Started this morning.”

“What are you supposed to be, anyway?” Alan asked, peering at Spock closely. 

This close, Spock saw that he was not elderly, but a middle-aged man in a false beard and wig. “An elf, apparently,” Spock replied.

“No, I mean, where you from?”

“I was born on the planet Vulcan, if that is what you mean.”

Alan scowled, his face pinching together unattractively behind the synthetic beard. “That’s what I thought. I don’t like Vulcans, they think they’re better ‘n us.”

“Define ‘us’,” Gaila asked, hand on hip and an expression on her face that made Spock think of words like ‘murderous.’

Alan smiled suddenly, backing away. “People with the holiday spirit, am I right?” He spun around and headed for the wing backed chair, singing, “Deck the halls with boughs of holly!”

“Asshat,” Gaila muttered before returning to her station.

\----

Spock quickly learned his duties over the course of the morning: assist in the conveyance of small children to “Santa’s Workshop” where they would engage Alan in conversation while seated upon his lap, pause long enough for Kenny to take a holo, then be handed a candy cane and ushered away. At that point their parent or whatever adult was supervising them would be encouraged to pay an exorbitant price for a commemorative, framed version of the holo. It was boring, repetitive work, so the elves took turns at the various stations to relieve the monotony as much as possible. 

After two hours, Alan stood and abruptly left, despite the fact Ola was in the middle of escorting a small boy to him. 

“Looks like it’s time for Santa’s break!” she said to the child with mock cheer, taking him back to his mother. There was a collective groan from what had become a very long line of people waiting, a line so long Spock could not see the end of it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, we’ve been waiting all morning!” the boy’s father complained. 

“He does not appear to be very pleased,” Spock pointed out.

Ola shrugged. “Disappointment is character-building,” she said and disappeared behind the display. 

Looking around, Spock saw that the others too had disappeared, and someone had set out a sign stating that Santa was taking a break “to feed Rudolph,” whoever that may be. Faced with the prospect of waiting with a crowd of frustrated parents and excited children or following his fellow elves to the back, he opted for the latter.

The storage room lined behind the display was small, lined with shelves from floor to ceiling on which cartons of candy canes, holo refills, and surplus frames sat. There was also room for three folding chairs, two of which were occupied; Gaila and Ola sat on a counter attached to the wall. Alan was nowhere to be seen.

“You’d better have a seat, sweetie,” Gaila said, pushing the one remaining chair in Spock’s direction with her foot. “There aren’t all that many opportunities to rest this close to Christmas.”

“I do not understand the point of this custom,” Spock said at one point. His mother had not celebrated the holiday, so he had no context for the traditions he was encountering. “The man in red is ‘Santa,’ correct?”

“Yes,” Ola replied. “He is their god.”

Spock frowned. 

“Long ago, the parents would offer a child as sacrifice, hoping that Santa, in his mercy, would see them through the harsh winter months ahead. Now it’s just for show, a pantomime of a once solemn ritual.”

“I don’t think—“ Spock began.

“No, no,” Gaila said. “Santa was a great warlord; the elves, his slaves, served his every whim. One day he found religion and decided to create gifts for all in the land, but he never freed his slaves because that would have been an end to his country’s economic stability.”

“And the candy canes?” Muna asked with a grin.

“Symbols of oppression,” Gaila replied. “They would use them to strangle those elves who got out of line.”

“I do not think that could be right,” Spock said.

“What, do you think he just gives these brats whatever their hearts desire, no questions asked, every year without thought to cost or profit margins? What explanation is more plausible?”

Spock did not think she could be serious, if the wink she directed at Muna was an indication, but it gave him a reason to do a bit of research when he got home later that night.

Fifteen minutes later, their break over, the elves returned to their stations. After another ten minutes, however, Alan had not yet returned.

“Hey, where’s Santa?” one of the parents called out to Spock.

Spock indicated the sign, but went over to Gaila to inquire. She appeared to be the one in the group exercising the most leadership, so it was a natural thing. “Gaila, do you know when Alan will return? The customers are becoming most impatient,” Spock said.

She shrugged. “He gets a fifteen minute break, same as us…”

“Uh-oh,” Kenny said, pointing down the corridor.

For a moment, Spock didn’t know quite what to make of the crimson wreck that made its way ponderously toward them. Alan’s beard, wig, belt, and false belly were all askew, as if he’d turned suddenly but his costume could not keep up. He staggered to a nearby support column half way to the workshop, panting as if he’d just run five kilometers. A moment later, Spock knew why: the odor of whisky wafted to them in advance of his arrival. 

“Not again,” Gaila muttered as Kenny shook his head slowly.

“Just great,” said Ola with a disgusted grimace. 

“Ho, ho, Hi-ho silverrrrr!” Alan said and giggled into his beard, staggering the remainder of the way toward them.

Spock blinked, appalled.

Gaila strode up to Alan. “What do you think you’re doing, we’ve got like a hundred kids this morning!” she hissed and tried to pull him aside.

“Leggo!” he protested, pulling his arm from her. “I’ll do what I want, I’m the boss of you, remember? I’m Santa, and you’re the elf.” He held a white-gloved hand above his head and said, “Santa,” then lowered it to below his knee and added, “elf,” then nearly fell over. 

Spock thought he could hear her teeth fring as Gaila fought to remain calm. “No, your cousin Todd is the boss of all of us, and if he finds out you came back from break wasted again—“

Alan made a dismissive gesture. “Like he’s gonna take the word of some Orion off-worlder over mine? Working here’s prolly the best gig you’ll get this side of a Betelgeusean whore house, bitch.”

“What did you say to her?” Ola said, moving in. Spock did not like the way this interaction was going; Ola being Caitian, she was likely to have at least three weapons secreted about her person. He calculated the probability of bloodshed at 89.3%. And rising.

“I’m sure you’ll earn your keep eventually,” Alan said as he placed his hands on Gaila’s breasts.

“Hey!” Gaila protested, pushing him away using a maneuver taught in the self-defense course at Starfleet Academy, she grasped his wrists and pulled them down while raising her knee to catch him in the groin. Regrettably, the padding in his costume negated direct contact, but it did break his hold on her. 

Angered, Alan attempted to strike her, but she easily dodged him. Ola, tail flicking rapidly, dropped into a crouch, and Spock saw the throwing dagger she pulled from her sleeve almost before she’d unsheathed it. Seeing no other option, Spock stepped forward into the melee, bringing Alan up short as he did so. Spock could smell his fetid breath as his own hand found the join between neck and shoulder and, despite the thick fabric of the costume, administered a timely Vulcan neck pinch. Alan went down like a sack of rocks, Gaila stood back with a furious expression on her face and, when Spock glanced at Ola, she stood there as placidly as if nothing had happened, dagger once more out of sight.

A moment later, Spock was aware of the low whir of a holo camera before several small children began crying that, “The elf killed Santa!”

The ensuing chaos was perfectly illogical.

\----

Todd stood at the end of the locker room by the door, hip cocked and arms crossed in front of him. He had the manner of a petulant poodle, a phrase Spock’s mother was fond of using, and one that Spock had never before considered applicable in any other situation until now. 

“You realize we’ve got no Santa Claus now?” Alan, having been dumped unceremoniously in the corner, farted in his sleep. Everyone present except Spock groaned.

“Look, I dunno what to tell you, Todd,” Gaila said, “the creep had it coming. He’s been grabbing ass all season.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“On the contrary, I find it the perfect excuse,” Spock commented dryly. “If, as Gaila claims, Alan has been harassing the staff, I would say you’ve been saved the inconvenience of a protracted employee relations investigation.”

Todd turned on Spock next. “And you! I thought Vulcans were peaceful? There are now twenty-five kids out there who think you killed Santa Claus!”

“While the apparent punishment does not precisely fit the crime, I see no issue with them having learned the lesson to respect one’s colleagues.” 

“I’ll take no more sass from you! You could have killed Alan. He’s gonna sue the store!”

“Alan will suffer no side effects other than those brought on by the heavy amount of alcohol he clearly consumed.”

“And as for a lawsuit,” Kenny said, “I think you’ll have a bigger problem on your hands when the video of what happened hits the news services.”

Todd’s face paled. “Vi-vi-video?”

“I had my holo camera on video record; caught the whole thing.” The other elves made impressed and encouraging noises. “But I can be convinced to maybe delete it,” Kenny went on, “ _if_ Gaila says she doesn’t want it.”

Todd looked at Gaila with something like fear in his eyes. “Gaila? Wh-what do you say?”

Gaila’s eyes glittered like the Pacific on a sunny day. “I dunno, Todd, how much is it worth to you?”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Blackmail is such a loaded word. Let’s call it a business arrangement. How much money does Santa’s Workshop have to make on photos and junk? What’s your revenue target?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“How much have we made?”

“Forty-two.”

“Hmm, only eight to go and what—five days til Christmas? I tell you what I’m gonna do, Todd. In exchange for not suing your ass for the highly actionable and harmful situation your lax management has permitted to occur, I and my co-workers will split all proceeds over fifty thousand.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Sure you can, Toddy.”

Todd’s face took on a calculating expression. “Fine, I’ll agree. But I have one stipulation. If the Workshop doesn’t make more than fifty grand, I don’t have to pay any of you.” 

“What?” Ola and Kenny said simultaneously. 

Gaila held up a hand and they quieted. “It’s a deal.”

“Shake on it?” Todd held out what was undoubtedly a sweaty hand. 

“Sure,” Gaila said as she shook his outstretched hand. 

When he’d gone, the others gathered around Gaila. “Dammit, Gay, what did you just do?” Muna asked. “Unlike you, I don’t get free room and board from Starfleet. I need this stupid job.”

Ola and Kenny made similar protests.

“Listen, if I didn’t think we could not only beat that number but kill it dead, I wouldn’t have opened my mouth. I’m Orion, honey, it’s in the bag.” 

\----

“You’ve got to wear the suit today, Spock,” Gaila said, “because if you don’t, none of us’ll get paid.”

When Spock reported for work the following morning, he did not have high expectations for a rewarding experience. It seemed that much of Gaila’s plans apparently now relied on him. “Did you not claim yesterday to have the situation, and I quote, ‘in the bag’?” 

“I mean, I do, it’s just that,” she stepped closer and traced the whorled pattern of his tunic against his chest with the tip of her finger, “the bag is Spock-shaped, sugar.”

Spock gently pushed her hand away. “Your Orion pheromones will have no effect on a Vulcan.”

She batted her eyelashes. “What about my feminine wiles?”

When Spock didn’t respond, she stamped her foot, setting the bells on her costume a-tinkling. “No one else fits the costume!”

“What about Kenny?” Spock pointed out.

“Oh, I’m too cool,” Kenny, who’d been standing nearby, said. “Besides, no one operates my holo camera but me, so.”

“Has the suit been cleaned?” 

“I put it through the sonic washing machine over in the Appliance department. And besides,” Gaila added in a singsong tone, “if you’re Santa, you get paid more.”

If Spock was capable of an emotional response such as sighing, he would have, for he could feel his resolve crumbling by the moment. “Will we not need someone to replace me on the line? The candy canes will not distribute themselves.”

“I’ve got someone in mind, he’s already on his way. Are you in?”

“Have I much choice?”

Gaila’s smile was truly lovely. “It’s hung up over by your locker.”

The only thing Spock could say for his new costume was that it looked like it would be warmer than his elf costume. 

Up close, he now saw it was made of a heavy velvet of a garish crimson, lined with white faux fur that was beginning to come undone in places. The jacket was cavernous, the trousers threadbare in the seat, and everything was so large it looked like it could fit two of Spock, let alone just the one. He was beginning to wonder at Gaila’s definition of the word “fit” when he noticed a secondary item hung up beside it. As he stared at it, appalled, Spock made out that it had been molded to approximate the torso of a clinically obese humanoid with surprising attention to detail—it even had the suggestion of breasts. It was made of some sort of foam-injected, sheer, synthetic material, and it hung from a pair of clothes hangers by a set of adjustable suspenders. He quickly realized how the voluminous red suit would now fit, though he did not relish the idea of portraying someone larger than himself. The Vulcan principle of IDIC called for honoring all beings as themselves without regard to gender or species or size, and this felt closer to parody than portrayal. 

Not that he had much choice in the matter.

Lifting the padding from its hangers, he lowered it to the floor so he might step into it. He saw immediately this would not work, as the neck of the thing was not wide enough to accommodate his hips. Turning the “garment” over in his hands, he looked for signs of buttons or other fasteners with no luck. He was finally forced to attempt to pull it over his head. 

The foam was surprisingly lightweight, but the fabric it had been injected into apparently had a tendency to conduct static electricity. Spock received two shocks before he’d gotten it over his head, and he could feel the hair on his head rise in reaction. The material had an odd drag to it, which made pulling it over his limbs an unpleasant affair, and the fit inside was actually quite snug. After struggling for many minutes, he finally seemed to be successful until he realized he’d put it on backwards. He frowned at himself in the full-length mirror on the wall beside his locker; the well-defined buttocks of the thing hanging down in front of him seemed like a rebuke.

Sighing, he attempted to remove it over his head but found his shoulder caught at a wrong angle. The fabric seemed too delicate to stand up to his Vulcan strength—there was no tearing it from his body—and the dragging of it against his skin was utterly unpleasant. He was contemplating using some if not all the swear words Alan had tossed off the previous day when he heard a friendly voice.

“Say, you look like you could use a little help.”

Spock turned in the direction of the voice, but found his line of sight obscured by the padding. “Hello?” he called out to the pair of men’s boots that stood a few feet away.

“You want some help with that thing?”

“If you would?” Spock struggled once more to demonstrate. “I appear to be stuck.” 

“Sure, just stand still and relax.”

A moment later, Spock was free of the thing at last. “Thank you for your assistance,” he said as he smoothed his hair.

The young man who’d rescued him was human, about Spock’s height, with fair hair and skin. His manner was not as confronting as his words might have been: he was smiling in what Spock had learned to be a friendly manner in humans, his face open and accepting. “No problem. I can’t believe they got a Vulcan playing the big guy? That’s got to be quite a sight!”

“I assure you, no planning or foresight were involved,” Spock said. “There was simply no one else who fit into the suit when the need arose.”

“Yeah, Gay told me all about it. That last guy sounds like a jerk.”

“He was not pleasant.” 

“I’m Jim, by the way,” the young man said. “I’d offer to shake hands, but I know Vulcans aren’t into that.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Spock held out his hands. “May I have the padding back?”

“Why don’t I just help you?”

It was the work of a moment to don the padding with another’s help, and Spock voiced his gratitude. He looked down at himself dubiously. “I do not understand the need for appearing overweight, it seems very odd,” he admitted, “and disrespectful.”

“ _He had a broad face and a little round belly,_  
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.  
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,  
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself,”  
Jim recited from memory. “That’s a bit from an old poem about Santa Claus,” he explained. “So it’s, uh, canon, I guess you could say.”

“Thank you for the insight. I am called Spock.”

“Gaila told me who you are, and I go to the Academy. But don’t worry, I won’t rat you out. If my adviser finds out I’ve got a job on the side, he’ll flay me alive.”

“Then we will both remain discreet. My own employment here would not be looked on favorably.” Spock continued to dress, finding the trousers and stepping into them with some difficulty. When he turned to pick up the coat, Jim was holding it up already opened, for him to step easily into it. 

“It’ll be easier if I help you,” Jim said, stepping in close. For a moment, they said nothing; Spock noted the younger man had the most strikingly blue eyes he’d ever seen. A most remarkable shade. Transfixing, even. Jim shook the garment lightly, and Spock’s reverie was broken; he was thankful Vulcans did not blush for certainly his illogical fascination with the young man’s eyes should be cause for embarrassment. A moment later, the coat was over Spock’s shoulders and Jim smoothed it out over his shoulders. 

“Looking good. Anyway, I’d better go get changed, don’t wanna be late or anything,” Jim said, and when he backed away toward the bathroom, Spock immediately regretted the lack of closeness. 

Spock finished dressing and crossed to a mirror to ensure he’d get the wig and hat on properly. It was fairly straightforward, but the beard had a tendency to tickle his nose and he sneezed three times before he’d even had a chance to pull the hat on. When he turned around, he was surprised to find Jim standing there once more, colorful elf costume already on. “Oh, er,” Spock began, carefully averting his eyes. 

Jim looked down at himself. “Is something wrong?”

“I believe there are shorts that are worn over the tights.”

Jim looked down at himself. “Well, that’s a relief, I was beginning to think this was a different kind of gig. Where do I find those?”

Spock showed him where the costume pieces were and Jim found a pair of green velvet shorts to match the vest he wore. 

“Well, they’re a little snug, but I think they look pretty good. What do you think?” Jim asked.

The shorts appeared to be approximately two sizes too small, and he’d rolled the cuffs on them as high as they would go. “This is still not that kind of ‘gig,’ as you have just observed,” Spock said in as even a tone as he could manage. 

“Point taken!” Jim went back to find another pair as Spock wondered why the locker room was suddenly so unbearably warm. 

\----

“All right, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”

Spock stood uneasily behind the Santa’s Workshop display, waiting for Gaila to finish introducing him to the assembled children. She had taken the initiative to provide direction on how the day’s program was to progress, pointing out that it would be more enjoyable to the children if there was a small amount of suspense at the start. No one else seemed to mind, least of all Spock.

“The man of the hour! The one! The only! Santa Claus!!!”

Ola, Muna, and finally Jim preceded Spock out into the store, making cheering sounds designed to incite excitement in the crowd that had gathered. “Hey, come on, Santa Claus is coming! It’s Santa!” and etc.

As requested, Spock waited several beats before showing himself. “Good morning, children and others,” he said. “Marry Christmas. Ho.”

“Psst! That’s _Merry_ Christmas,” Gaila stage whispered to him.

“Forgive me, Merry Christmas,” Spock called out as he took his seat in the large wing-backed chair.

“And it’s ‘ho-ho-ho’—three hos.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ho-ho-ho. You only gave one ‘ho’.”

“I find the additional ‘hos’ to be irrelevant.”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Gaila turned to help Muna with the children, who were indeed very excited to be there. The first was a very small boy, who walked up reluctantly, holding his mother’s hand. 

“Hello, small child, how may I assist you today?” Spock greeted. 

“He’s supposed to sit in your lap,” Gaila prompted.

“Ah, yes.” Spock sat back to accommodate. Muna picked the boy up and placed him on Spock’s lap. “I believe it is customary to ask for an introduction. I am Claus. And you are?”

“Nafan?” the child, whose eyes had gone alarmingly wide, replied.

“Good morning, Nafan. What an odd name for a human.”

“It’s ‘Nathan,’ actually,” said the mother.

“Ah, of course. I believe it is of Hebrew origin, is it not? How may I help you, Nathan?”

“Ask him what he wants for Christmas,” Gaila prompted, sotto voce.

“Ah yes. Of course. What would you like for a present, young Nathan?”

“Lego.”

“If I let go you will fall to the floor, and I doubt your mother will appreciate that.”

“No, he wants Lego for Christmas,” the mother said.

“I see. And what am I meant to do to assist with that?”

“You’re going to leave it under the tree?”

“I?”

“Yes.”

“Which tree?”

“The one at our house? The Christmas tree?”

“Madam, I barely know you, that hardly seems appropriate.”

The woman looked uncomfortably at Gaila, who laughed lightly. “Oh, Santa’s just pulling your leg, ha-ha!”

“Why would I do such a thing? Surely that’s an invitation to an assault charge,” Spock pointed out. 

“Oh, now Santa, let’s pretend we know all about human idioms and _get on with it_!” Gaila said, managing to be pleasant and threatening all at once. “Shall we?”

“Should we just get the picture?” the mother suggested, which everyone thought was the best idea, including Spock.

Photo taken and candy cane distributed, Spock watched as Nathan was escorted away.

“What’s your name, little girl?” Spock asked of the next child to be brought up and plopped on his lap. The child was unresponsive, and instead looked out over the toy department with complete disinterest.

“Janie. Her name’s Janie,” the adult woman accompanying her replied.

“And what would you like for Christmas, Janie?”

“She’d like a puppy, and an EZ-Fake Replicator.”

“And how have you behaved, have you been a good girl, Janie?” Once more, the child was wholly uninterested in her surroundings and promptly shoved her thumb in her mouth. “I believe there is a quid pro quo involved here, is there not?” Spock asked, looking around.

“She’s been a very good girl,” the mother said proudly.

“Madam, I wonder why young Janie has come today if you provide the answer to my every question?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Perhaps you should sit upon my lap to eliminate the intermediary.”

“What?”

“Now, Santa,” Gaila said patiently. “The point is for the children to ask you what they want for Christmas, so that you will bring it to them on Christmas Eve.”

Spock brought all his Vulcan conditioning to bear in remaining calm as he replied, “How would one man possibly secure toys for all of these children?” He indicated those in line.

“Not just those, all of them,” the mother pointed out. “Is this guy for real?” she asked Gaila.

“He’s not from around here,” she replied.

“All the children in San Francisco?”

“In the world!” Janie’s mother said exasperatedly.

“That is physically, logistically, and fiscally unfeasible. Woman, are you simple?”

“OK, time for a picture, Janie!” Gaila said in a singsong, distracting everyone.

When Janie and her mother had gone, Gaila silently walked over to where Jim was flirting with both parents of the next young boy and made him change places with her. “Boy, what did you do to piss Gaila off?” Jim asked in a low voice as he made his way over with the next child in line.

“I have no idea. Who have we here?”

“Thtuart,” the boy said. 

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Thtuart. What an interesting name.”

“Never mind, I think I know exactly what happened,” Jim said. 

Spock ignored him. “Have you been a good boy?”

“Uh-huh! Gwandma thayth if I’m good Thanta will bwing me pwethenth!”

Spock’s brow furrowed as he tried to parse the child’s odd speech patterns. “And what kind of… _pwethenth_ would you like to receive?”

“A turbo bike.”

“Yes?”

“And a hover car and a ewephant!”

“An ewephant?”

“Uh-uh, a weal ewephant! The kind with tuthkth!”

“Tuthkth,” Spock pronounced slowly, and realization slowly dawned. “Ah, I see, an _elephant_. Is that entirely practical? You are a very small child, after all. Do you live on a farm or other area that would make elephant ownership practical?”

“Uh-uh, I wive on Embawkadewo, in a pawtment.”

“I see, and how long have you suffered from these delusions?”

“Ha-ha, oh that Santa, he’s a real cutup, ain’t he, Stu?” Jim said, interrupting Spock. He bent over to murmur in Spock’s ear, “Just humor the kid.”

Spock looked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Humor him, you know, pretend he’s going to get anything he wants.”

“Do you mean lie? Vulcans do not lie.”

“It’s not exactly a lie. We don’t know if his parents won’t get him whatever he wants, no matter how unlikely. Trust me, it’ll be more… expedient.”

“All right.” Spock cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the child. “I will see what can be done about an elephant. Where do you plan to keep it?”

“In my woom.”

“Naturally. Well, shall we smile for the holo? It’s right over there.”

“There now, wasn’t that easy?” Jim said when Stuart had hopped down and rejoined his parents. 

“It makes me uneasy, lying to children.”

“They’re not your children.”

“I fail to see the difference.”

“It’s really not worth worrying about,” Jim said as a family that included three youngsters made their way up. Thankfully, all they wanted to do was take a few family shots with Santa.

“It is exhausting,” Spock said, continuing their conversation.

“Well, if it helps, just think of yourself as an actor. That way, it’s not you who is lying, it’s your character, Santa Claus.”

“I will try.”

Armed with that conceit, Spock found the rest of the day to be less problematic. 

\----

“Spock! Hey, Spock, wait up!”

At the close of shift, Spock opted to go straight home rather than join his co-workers for drinks at a nearby bar. Despite the Academy being on winter break, he still had reports to edit and curriculum to review. He also found himself unusually drained this evening, even if he’d spent most of the day seated.

“You did not wish to go for drinks with the others?” Spock asked. “I understand such bonding rituals are common among new acquaintances. 

Jim shrugged. “I can’t afford to go drinking at a bar at this point. There’s a reason I took a job the week before Christmas. I really need the cash. 

“I understand. I too am in need of funds.” 

“I’d have thought the Academy would pay better.” 

“It is more a matter of availability than abundance I am afraid. My residency status has yet to catch up with me after being off planet. It is complicated.” 

“I get it. So Gaila told me you’re a new instructor at the Academy. Starting next semester?”

“She is well-informed.”

“She’s not just tapped into the grapevine, she is the grapevine,” Jim said.

“An interesting metaphor. To your original question, I have lately accepted a post as instructor at the academy, having more recently been assigned to the Reliant as science officer to Captain Pike.”

“Pike, eh? I didn’t know he was back on-planet.”

“You are acquainted with the Captain?”

“We go way back.” 

When he was not more forthcoming, Spock let the matter drop, though his curiosity was piqued.

A stiff wind blew in suddenly from the bay, causing Spock to shiver and hunker down into the parka he wore. He was grateful for the hat and gloves his mother had sent ahead for him. He looked over at Jim, who wore a light jacket—unfastened—and didn’t seem adversely affected by the cold. “Are you not cold? I cannot seem to get used to it.”

Jim looked at both their attire and laughed. “Yeah, I guess growing up on a desert planet wouldn’t necessarily prepare you for this, huh? I’m from Iowa, this weather’s practically like summertime.”

“I have never been to Iowa, is it very cold?”

“I mean it’s not arctic or anything but it’s colder than this place. We usually have a white Christmas. I like walking in the woods behind the house where I grew up when it snows, it’s really peaceful.”

“Do you miss your home?” Spock had long ago learned how to “make small talk” with humans—it was as important a skill in his career as learning to pilot a shuttle, he’d found—but as he spoke with Jim, he realized he was interested in his answers more than wanting to keep up appearances. 

“I miss the snow.” 

“I do not.”

“Have you ever seen snow?”

“As a boy, my family visited my maternal grandparents in Washington state. There was snow there, but only on the mountains. We never visited those.”

“Maternal grandparents? So your mom is—“

“Human, yes.”

“That’s neat. So you grew up on Vulcan? Do you miss it?”

Spock considered his answer before speaking. “I find I miss the idea of it more than the actual place. The familiarity holds a certain emotional importance.” 

“That doesn’t sound logical.”

“I am large, I contain multitudes.”

Jim laughed. “And I can take a hint. I’m sorry if my question offended you.”

“There is no offense where none is taken. You are curious and I am willing to share. Is that not what new friends do?”

Jim looked at him. “Are we new friends?”

“Of course,” Spock replied. “Until the new term starts, at any rate. Then we be instructor and cadet, and will have to assume those roles.”

“I guess that works for me.”

“Neither of us has much choice in the matter.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, arriving at the outskirts of Starfleet Academy campus. The neighborhood was home to much of the faculty housing, and were soon at the turning for Spock’s street. “This is where I live,” he said, pointing down the lane. He knew the student housing was farther on. “Do you work tomorrow?”

“I do,” Jim said, nodding. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Spock.”

“Good evening, Jim.”

“Bye.”

\----

The next day, Spock arrived to find Jim already in the locker room, getting dressed. “Hey!” Jim greeted Spock enthusiastically, not getting up. He was apparently struggling to pull the hose onto his legs while keeping the green and white stripes even, and was wearing nothing else but his ‘fleet-issued boxer briefs. He was well-proportioned, with broad shoulders and well-defined arms. Spock noted those things because fit cadets were important to Starfleet, he told himself. 

“Good. Morning.” Spock went to his locker and stowed his belongings, then began the long process of getting the costume on.

“You want some help getting your kit on?” Jim offered. 

When Spock glanced at Jim, he’d gotten the tights on. Spock was also pleased, on Starfleet’s behalf, that Jim also had well-formed buttocks, for this was certainly also important. He sighed. “No, I think I will have to manage it myself at some point. But thank you.”

“Sure thing.”

By the time he’d gotten dressed and up to the toy department, the store was rapidly filling with customers. Everywhere he went, people waved to him.

“They like you,” Jim explained when he inquired.

“They do not know me.”

“But they know Santa. Or, their idea of what he means to them. You’re like their favorite grandpa, who brings presents and sweets every time they see you.”

Spock recalled how his own maternal grandfather would bring him books and puzzles on his annual visits to Vulcan. “That is perhaps the most succinct explanation into the motivations of the character. Thank you, Jim.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

They settled into the same rhythm with their duties as the day before, but with the added incentive to surpass their quota, there was a slightly more mercenary undertone to it than Spock had detected previously. Ola took to tying mistletoe to the end of her tail and offering kisses for five credits each. Jim flirted so well and so charmingly with nearly every parent that came through that he had them “eating out of the palm of his hand” as he put it when it came time to upselling them on the photo packages. And Spock found himself out of his seat as much as he ever was in it, as a good deal of the parents wished to have a picture of themselves with Gaila on their knee instead of with Santa Claus. One memorable customer brought along a clutch of baby tribbles.

The times he enjoyed were break times with the others, when they would spend their limited time “shooting the shit” as Jim put it. They’d speak of their home worlds, or their current circumstances. Gaila, Jim and Spock were at Starfleet Academy of course, but Muna was a dancer who’d injured her shoulder and needed extra funds while she recovered. Kenny was an amateur holographer in need of professional experience. And Ola was hoping to save enough money to afford her own apartment, away from her five sisters. 

One lunchtime, as often happened, they discussed the often illogical collection of superstition and tradition humans had wrapped up in their holiday season. Being the only human in the group, it fell to Jim to explain it all, which he did with friendly aplomb.

“But what is the point of removing a tree from its natural setting and decorating it, only to throw it away at the end of it all?” Ola asked. “It’s all so pointless and wasteful!”

“It is, but like I’ve said, a lot of these traditions are mashups brought over from Europe. Is the Christmas tree symbolic of the tree of life from Old Testament stories? Ancient Greek tradition symbolizing eternal life? Or an example of early Christians appropriating Viking worship of trees? Some? All? Mostly no one cares, it’s just good fun.” 

“That just makes no sense. How do you not know? Where I am from, the histories are passed from parent to child in a never-ending line. We will never forget them, they are a part of us.”

“Humans have survived millennia of disruptive and often destructive history,” Spock said. “and often the written record was destroyed by the conquering forces as a way of subjugation of local populations.” 

“Barbaric,” Ola said.

“Upsetting,” Gaila added.

“Yeah, I’m still not over the burning of the library at Alexandria,” Jim added.

“When was that?”

“Twenty-three centuries ago?”

“Oh my gods!” Gaila laughed, punching him in the upper arm.

\----

At last the week was done. It was December 24, and Santa was meant to be making himself ready to deliver gifts to the billions of children on the planet, therefore...

“We’re getting a half day today!” Gaila announced that morning in the locker room. “We get off at 1:00.”

“What? They still have to pay us,” Ola said.

“Don’t worry, I made sure of it with Todd. Apparently, Santa needs to get his sleigh ready to deliver all the presents.”

“What is a sleigh?”

Gaila pointed at one of the decorations hanging from the ceiling. It depicted an open carriage with Santa at the reins, large sack of gifts in the back. It was being pulled by a collection of mammals Spock was unfamiliar with. “Those are not horses,” he commented.

“Eight tiny reindeer,” Jim offered 

“I count four.”

Jim shrugged. “They’re probably supposed to be next to each other in their harnesses. Probably wasn’t cost effective to add them all.”

Spock should not have been surprised by now at such inaccuracies. “So rather than deploy more modern means of delivery, such as transporter technology, Santa relies on this antiquated means?”

“I mean it also flies?”

“Of course it does,” Spock deadpanned. He’d resisted trying to make sense of any of it days ago.

The morning was less busy than Spock had yet experienced. By the time they were to quit for the day, Santa’s workshop was nearly empty. 

The rest of the toy department, however, was bustling with last minute shoppers trying to find the perfect gift. Spock and the others made their way through the aisles handing out their remaining candy canes to fill the time, a gesture that was mostly welcomed. 

After shift, they found Todd waiting for them in the employee locker room. For a moment there was a tense silence as they all regarded each other, broken only by Todd’s compulsive hiking up of this pants.

“Well?” Gaila said. Her entire frame had stiffened as if she expected an attack. “How’d we do.”

Todd looked as harried and mournful as he ever did, giving no clue as to the outcome of their hard work. “Well,” he said, “Santa’s Workshop did in fact exceed its quota for the season.”

“By how much?” Gaila asked. 

“The quota was fifty thousand. You’ve made...” Todd referred to his PADD with an air of disappointment, “Sixty.”

“Sixty? _Sixty?!_ ”

There followed a great deal of jubilation as the elves celebrated. Spock was merely relieved that their efforts had not been for nothing and that they would be paid. 

Todd handed out envelopes filled with their pay for the week as well as the surplus as bonus. Gaila, in her exuberance, ran up to Todd and threw her arms around his neck to kiss him on the cheek. He left the room with a reddened face and lipstick marks on his cheeks. 

“Let’s hurry up and get changed and get to the bar,” Gaila said, “because the first round is on me!”

“Hey Spock, what do you say, you wanna go?” Jim asked him, face aglow and smiling.

Spock found the excitement affecting enough. “I would be happy to,” he replied.

\----

“Spock, you should have told us that chocolate makes Vulcans drunk, or I wouldn’t have ordered that second brownie sundae!” Jim struggled to keep the two of them on a straight path on the walk home while supporting a very tipsy Spock. He had one arm around Spock’s waist, and the other anchoring the Vulcan’s arm around his neck. 

“You are very strong, Jim.”

“Thanks, buddy, but do you think you could make your feet both go in the same direction? You’re pretty damn heavy.”

“Of course,” Spock said before tripping on a crack in the sidewalk. Luckily, Jim caught Spock before he could fall. Perhaps more luckily, the movement brought them closer together, with Spock’s face angled into Jim’s warm neck. “You are warm.”

“And your nose is cold.”

Spock burrowed his nose deeper. “You smell quite pleasant.”

“Thank you,” Jim laughed, his Adam’s apple bobbing against Spock’s cheek. Impulsively, and with no forethought, Spock laid a light kiss on the warm, tender skin. “Did you just kiss me?”

Spock stood back, swaying slightly on his feet, focusing on Jim with difficulty. “No.”

Jim’s smile had not faded. “No?”

“That is not something I would do.”

“But you did. Just now.”

“Did I?” He frowned, replaying the last moments. “Oh. That was pres... pers… perump…” He sighed, and spoke very slowly, “You have my apogees, Jim.”

“Apogee accepted,” Jim said before leaning forward to kiss Spock on the lips. It was the lightest brush of lips, dry and almost chaste, but when they parted, Jim looked back at Spock with a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

Then Spock threw up on his shoes.

\----

Spock woke the next morning with the sun on his face, an unusual occurrence, for his bedroom windows faced West.

“Merry Christmas.”

He startled to hear another’s voice in the room. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find Jim seated in a chair opposite where Spock lay on the sofa.

“Merry Christmas,” Spock said slowly. “How did you get in here?”

“Me? I practically carried you up the stairs,” Jim said with a wide smile. “Vulcans are very heavy.”

“Our bone density is greater than humans,” Spock explained.

“That explains it.”

“Why are you here?”

“You asked me to stay.”

“I did?”

“After you puked on my shoes.”

“Oh.”

“Which was after I kissed you.”

“Oh?”

“It was an eventful night.”

“Was it?”

“I never knew about Vulcans and chocolate, that’s, uh, wild, huh?”

Spock sat up and immediately regretted it as a stabbing pain flared behind his left eye. “I feel strongly that I must apologize, though I confess to not having full recall of the events you related.”

“It’ll come back to you, trust me. Besides, those were the least interesting events last night. You were a pretty fun drunk up until that point. I didn’t know you knew all the words to The Twelve Days of Christmas. Even I get lost around number 8 or 9.”

“I’ve heard it sung half a dozen times each day for the last week, how could I not.”

“I feel like I should let you know it’s not an Earth tradition to act out all the parts, though.”

“Is it not?”

“You did all the lords a-leaping, that was pretty epic.”

Spock felt a stab of dismay. “How will I ever show my face in public again?”

“I wouldn’t sweat it. The maids a-milking totally made up for it.”

“I find myself wishing that time travel was a real possibility.” 

Jim laughed, kindly Spock thought. “I wouldn’t sweat it. If you can’t let off a little steam after work with your friends, then what’s life all about eh?”

“Friends, yes.” 

“Are you feeling up for going out? We’re supposed to meet Gaila for breakfast in half an hour, but if you’re ill, I can comm her and let her know.”

“No, I believe I would enjoy that.”

Jim smiled again. “Good. Now, what do you say I replicate us up some coffee? I could use the caffeine.”

“That would be acceptable.”

“Terrific.”

As Jim busied himself with the drinks, Spock had a moment to reflect on his life the last week. The experience at McCall’s Department Store had been fascinating in more ways than one. Spock did feel an affinity with the other Santa’s Workshop workers now, one gained through a frequently mind-numbingly tedious and occasionally humiliating experience, but wasn’t that what bonded people together? It was sentimental and far too emotional, but he felt a kinship with them all, and one of them in particular. But one thing stuck out in his mind, and he needed to voice a pressing concern. “Jim?”

Jim leaned out through the kitchen doorway. “Yeah?”

“I regret not remembering you kissing me last night.”

“Ah, don’t worry Spock, I’ll make sure the next one is totally memorable. Ola lent me her mistletoe.”

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
